The Outtake Holotapes
by Valdryfor
Summary: When the cameras stop rolling, the cast of New Vegas aren't who you think they are...
1. Chapter 1

**Kink Meme Prompt:** If F:NV had DVD extras, what would the cast be up to behind the scenes? If the game were run like a movie set, what happens when we aren't watching? What are the interviews like? Is there a blooper reel? Does no one like working with someone who keeps flubbing their lines?

**A/N:** Ask and you shall receive...

* * *

**Part 1: Opening Sequence**

"...The game was rigged from the start."

_Bang._

Silence. And then...

"CUT! Do it again! From the top!"

Benny groaned and tossed Maria to the ground. "Come on, it's past midnight, and I've been working since freaking 9 AM, and I didn't get to eat dinner, and just so you know, whoever's in charge of wardrobe, this suit is ugly as hell—"

"Quit complaining, Benny, or you can hand over that ugly-as-hell suit to the next guy willing to take over your role," the New Vegas director barked from his seat behind the cameras, jabbing his thumb over to the line of Chairmen extras leering his way.

Benny let out an exaggerated sigh and kicked the dirt. "Fine. How many more takes we gotta do?"

The director nodded as the female Courier Benny had just "shot" tossed her costume head sack and rope to another woman. "We got the caucasian and black female Couriers filmed and finished. Now we need the Asian and Hispanic ladies to do the scene."

"All right, let's get it over with."

"Hang tight there, primadonna," the director said, smirking. "We also still gotta film all the male Couriers for this sequence."

Benny stared back at him, his eyes almost bulging out. "WHAT! UGH! You're not paying me enough to work these hours! I wanna talk to my manager! And someone find my assistant! I need a vodka on the rocks, pronto! And by the way, this pompadour hairstyle is so square!"

As Benny flew into one of his drama king fits, the director rolled his eyes.

"Change of plans, people. We're going to skip to Benny's crucifixion scene with the Legion."

Instantly, the tirade dissipated. "No! I'm too _tired_ to climb up that cross and hang there! At this time of night, it's so much _effort_! And you promised me a _martini_ before I did that scene!"

His whiny tone was almost unbearable.

The director sneered at him. "Then shut the fuck up and do the scenes for the opening sequence. Now, PLACES. FROM THE TOP!"

* * *

**Part 2: Meet the Courier(s)**

"Hi, we're the eight actors playing the role of the Courier," F!Courier #1 declared to the camera, waving.

"We're under contract not to disclose our real names so we don't influence the player's character-naming decision," M!Courier #3 stated.

"Mine's Ted," M!Courier #4 said flatly.

"Ted—I mean, Male Courier Four!" F!Courier #2 gasped. "The director's going to chew you out for that." To the cameraman, she added, "Cut that part out."

"Whatever. No one ever plays my ethnicity, anyway," M!Courier #4 grumbled. Then, noticing the glare from his counterpart, F!Courier #4, he amended, "At least, not as a guy."

"Anyway, we hope you, the player, enjoy what this game has to offer," M!Courier #1 cut in. "In order to make the gameplay experience as authentic for you as possible, we all went through a three-month boot camp with the NCR to prepare for our role."

"Except me. I'm a transplant from the Capital Wasteland after I was rejected for a part as one of the female Lone Wanderers," F!Courier #3 remarked, sending sharp looks at her castmates. "You're all lucky. Ever trained with the Brotherhood of Steel on the east coast? Those fuckers don't play around, not like the chapter here. I had to go on a triathlon while wearing their goddamn power armor. They make the NCR drill sergeants look like wusses—"

"All right, we get it," M!Courier #2 interrupted in annoyance. "What are you complaining about, anyway? You got cast after your second try, didn't you? I've been trying to break into this series since fucking Fallout 1."

"That's... sad," F!Courier #3 admitted.

"That really is," F!Courier #4 added.

"No, that's kind of tragic," M!Courier #3 chimed in.

"Hahaha... no, it's outright pathetic," M!Courier #4 chortled.

M!Courier #2 glowered at him. "Shut up, Ted."

* * *

**Part 3: Victor's Technical Difficulties**

The director ran a hand over his face as the blazing Mojave sun beat down on the cast and crew. "Seriously, whose bright idea was it to use a Securitron for this role? We haven't even begun filming _Ain't That a Kick in the Head_, and this thing is already broken."

Several tech experts surrounded the stiff form of Victor, whose static-filled display screen was currently playing through every source of visual media imaginable.

"Viva Las Vega—" _Bzzzzzt._ "...To the inauguration of President—" _Bzzzt._ "There's no place like ho—" _Bzzzzzzzt._ "...But Ricky! I wanna be in the show—" _Bzzzzzt._ "Este es un programa especial para informarle—" _Bzzzzt._ "Yeah, see? I'm gonna whack this guy, see?" _Bzzzzzt._ "HEIL, HITLER—"

"God, make it stop!" the director roared, throwing his stack of scripts into the air and stomping back to his chair. Several production assistants scurried over to pick up the scattered pages. "I want that robot either fixed or thrown out by the end of the day!"

"Sir, did you want us to try reinstalling the refined neo-British personality in his processors?" one tech expert inquired.

"What are the success rates?"

"For that particular program... about 6%."

"Jesus on a deathclaw," the director snarled. "We might as well just trash him now."

"Well, we do have another personality program ready for installation at a 92% success rate."

"Which one is it?"

"...The overacted, twangy, western cowboy one."

The director sighed in resignation. "Fine, use it. It's either that or we rent out an android from the Institute at the Commonwealth. And you know what a pain in the ass it is to deal with those haughty New England types."

* * *

**Part 4: Meet Benny (Because He Insists on a Spotlight Interview)**

"Hello~... I'm Benny, the star antagonist of this game," the self-centered man gloated to the camera, leaning forward enough so he could see his own face in the lens. "I play a prominent role as your player character's enemy, so my part is of course one of the most important in the game—"

"He dies halfway through, don't worry," M!Courier #1 said while passing by behind Benny's chair.

"Hey, this is _my_ interview, you ass," Benny hissed, prying himself away from the camera to curl his lip at the other actor. "And watch the spoilers! Also, my character can potentially live if the player shows me mercy!"

"After putting up with you throughout the game, and especially if they see the real you behind the scenes, no. You're totally going to be dead in 100% of playthroughs," F!Courier #4 told him while also passing by.

"Argh, all of you get lost! Not you," Benny snarled at the cameraman, who was only too happy to get up and start walking away. "This is my spotlight, so you're going to sit here and record my charming self as I list all my accomplishments that led to me getting this role."

"You're better off just leaving the camera there recording while you go do something else," M!Courier #2 called to the cameraman from the other side of the break tent. "He's going to start with the first time he successfully shit in a potty chair during his toddler years."

Benny shot to his feet. "That's it. Let's settle this."

M!Courier #2 jumped up, slamming a fist into his palm in anticipation. "Okay then, let's roll, Benny-boy. I have to pull my punches on set, but this time I'm not holding anything back."

Suddenly, Benny balked and recoiled. "What the fuck are you talking about? I was going to settle it with Caravan. Loser hands over his next paycheck. You thought I was asking for a fight? And risk bruising my face? Are you crazy? I have a calendar shoot to do at the end of the week! I'm Mr. February, you know!"

Every single witness in the area stared at him blankly.

"...And this is why no one would ever show you mercy, Benny," F!Courier #4 drawled. "In character or otherwise."


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 5: On Location at Nipton**

"Good… good… the smoke and fire effects are good. Everything looks good—no! You there! What is with that stupid expression on your face?" the director yelled at one of the "crucified" men on the nearest cross. "You're supposed to look either dead or in pain, not like the town idiot! And a gassy one, at that!"

"Although technically, the town idiot could very well have been one of these crucifixion victims," a production assistant piped up helpfully. "And those other extras have the 'look dead' thing down pat. I think they've actually fallen asleep."

A loud snore from one of the hanging men confirmed it.

"Be quiet and bring me a donut. And fire that guy for sleeping on the job," the director snapped before turning back to the first extra. "Fix your face to the proper expression of torture and agony before I fix it for you."

"Sorry, sir, but I was just trying to make the scene easier for when Vulpes comes in," the extra declared from high up on the cross. "You know how weak his disposition is, so I figured if he could focus on something funny…"

"Please, he's a professional," the director insisted. "And what would players think if the smooth-talking frumentarii leader randomly glanced at something off-camera and began giggling? It would ruin his character for the entire game!"

"Um… excuse me…" a silken voice called from the front entrance of the town hall.

Vulpes appeared in full costume, trying to keep his gaze from wandering over the gory set design.

"Get back to your place. We're about to start the first take," the director ordered.

"I just… I wanted to know—oh, God," Vulpes stuttered when he accidentally caught sight of a realistic-looking mauled corpse. Eyes going skyward, he continued, "I-I just wanted to know if wearing this dead animal on my head is necessary. It smells."

The director exhaled in vexation. "Yeah, it's necessary, and we're wasting time. Places, everyone!"

"But—"

_"Now."_

Five minutes later, as M!Courier #1 approached the town hall for the confrontation scene, the production assistant leaned toward the director.

"Sir, are you sure we should have him in that special effects makeup?" she whispered.

"Shhh. This is a test of Vulpes's acting skill."

It started out well enough. Vulpes emerged from the doors and marched down the stairs with a sweeping air of confidence, completely in character.

"Don't worry," he drawled in his snake-like tone, "I won't have you lashed to a cross like the rest of these degenerates. It's useful that you—"

He froze when he got a close-up look of M!Courier #1's mutilated face, which included a bloody eyeball dangling from its socket and swinging merrily across his cheek.

Vulpes turned an alarming shade of white. "…Useful that you hap… that you happened…"

And without further ceremony, he keeled over and hit the ground, out cold.

* * *

**Part 6: Meet Vulpes Inculta**

"That fainting incident was not my fault," Vulpes seethed to the camera, fanning himself with a Legion centurion's feathered helmet. "They know I have a delicate constitution, and yet insist on pulling this uncalled for crap."

"How did you even get cast for that part?" a legionary extra next to him asked. "The Legion is all about blood and battle, murder and death—"

"They needed someone pretty as the frumentarii leader," Vulpes replied matter-of-factly. "I was the only logical choice."

"Yeah, but you go through so many takes because you're always passing out from one thing or another. Or vomiting."

"Well, have you _smelled_ that headdress I have to wear?" Vulpes demanded. "I'm fairly certain they simply dunked someone's recently deceased dog into the river a few times and then fashioned it into a costume. Who wouldn't gag from inhaling that disgusting thing?"

"Hey, Vulpes! I've got the answer to all your problems with the Nipton scenes!" the director announced, ambling up to the actor's interview seat. "We'll replace your headdress with a faux version, and I want you to wear this while you're doing your lines with the Courier(s)."

Vulpes took the piece of black cloth held out to him. "…A blindfold?"

"We're taking desperate measures here."

"But… I won't be able to see anything."

The director bent forward, a maniacal glint in his eye as he sneered. "Exactly."


End file.
